The Spaces In Between
by springfell7
Summary: A collection of short drabbles based on The Dark Knight. Taking thoughts from Bruce, the Joker, Harvey, Rachel, Lucius, Alfred, Gordon, and anonymous. Warning: Some chapters will be more violent than others.
1. Chapter 1

I hate the way I love him

My first attempt at some Dark Knight drabbles. I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while, so let's see ho wit turns out.

A Relationship

I hate the way I love him.

It's not so much the man I love. In fact, that's the part about him that I detest. I hate how his hands will always be covered in the blood of others and he doesn't have a qualm. He just keeps killing and destroying lives and never stops. You could threaten him with death and he wouldn't even flinch.

He would just laugh at your face and grin.

That's another thing I hate: The high uncontrollable laugh he gives off that sends shivers down your spine. Even when he's not laughing his eyes still sparkle with that gory glee.

He laughs at the most serious moments, and you forget that there's a face beneath all of that paint and rouge. You forget that he's a physical human being, because within that laugh he becomes so terrifying. He becomes more of a symbol than Batman ever could be.

I could go on and on about everything I detest about him. He licks his lips like a snake. I read once that snakes use their tongue to smell. They flick their tongue out every now and then in search for their prey. Then they creep up on the prey and attack faster than imaginable. Snakes eat their prey whole, a slow and most likely painful death.

If the snake doesn't poison you first.

Oh, but I digress. Like him.

But most of all, I hate his scars. It sickens me when he grins and shows those yellow teeth against those red marks. It makes me nearly hurl when he moves so close to my face, and I can smell gunpowder and gasoline and flint all about him. The way he moves his blade of choice against my bare skin, I feel so powerless, and so alone.

He always asks "You wanna know how I got these scars?" and you know he'll tell you anyway. He makes you look into those eyes, green eyes that might as well be black with malice. He conjures a story tailored to your lifestyle and personality, a story that would make you feel pity if it were anyone else.

If you're lucky, he'll let you live after the story.

If you have a guardian angel you'll get away without any scars on your face, but with plenty of memories burned into your mind.

And yet I'm drawn to him. The way he thinks may create an appearance of insanity, but it isn't. He scares and intrigues me because everything he says, no matter how horrible or sickening, it all has a grain of truth. I want to listen to him and hear how his mind works, but he scares me because of that very same reason. He can see through the lies and mirages that many of us cannot. He may just be one of the most intelligent men you will ever meet.

He is not crazy.

It's a shame that such intelligence is wasted upon such a personality.

So I love him and I hate him. I want to be closer to him, and when he is closer I want him away from me. It's as if I'm battling an addiction that harms but draws me in. He says things that are frighteningly true, and murders innocents without conviction.

I hate how I love him, and love how he hates me.

Fin

Please review. Send your ideas to me, and maybe I'll put them in one of the chapters. Flames are not accepted.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you guys so much for all of the reviews

Thank you guys so much for all of the reviews. I promise not all of this will be about the Joker, despite him being such an interesting topic, and that there will be thoughts about other characters.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Dark Knight. Damn.

Late

She was going to wait for me, Alfred. She said she was going to wait for me until Gotham no longer needed Batman. How long do you reckon that might have been; A year? Five? Ten? Twenty? She said she was going to wait no matter what.

And I failed her.

God damn it, why did I let him get to me that easily? Why didn't I kill him when I had the chance? I threw him around the room like a puppet and all he did was _laugh. _That laugh…I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp. But if I had done that, I would never have figured out where Harvey and Rachel were.

I can't imagine what those last moments were like for her, knowing that she was going to die. She was counting on me to be there and save her. Instead she watched the minutes tick by, with nothing to do except scream and pray and listen to Harvey. She knew even before he could say anything that only one of them would survive. A few more minutes and I could have saved her.

Instead I let that sick _thing_ trick me. He knew I would get angry at the mere mention of her in peril, even without knowing the man behind the mask. He's smarter than he looks, that much I'll give him.

Harvey…Jesus, Harvey. Of the three of us, he got the short end of the stick. He lost Rachel, half his face, and probably some of his hope for Gotham. Just when he thought he was safe, they tied him up to a chair and made him listen to the death of his girlfriend. If that doesn't make you go mad with grief, nothing will.

This is all my fault. If I had never become Batman, Rachel would still be alive. _I _pushed the mobs to their limits, and they turned to that mad man to solve all their problems. HE nearly killed Rachel simply with an open window and my own command turned on itself. And because I jumped after her, he knew that she was important, that Rachel was a strength.

And all strengths are weaknesses.

The press will want full coverage on this. They'll want to hear all about the death of the District Attorney's girlfriend, and they know the story will sell big in the tabloids. It's amazing how much tragedy a person can listen to without feeling anything. They can read about a group of soldiers being bombed or a fatal midnight brawl between gang members and be as cold as stone. But when they hear a child has died due to cancer, or a famous actor overdosed on drugs, they start getting all choked up and feel the need to do something about it. Heart-wrenching death is the only way to get anybody to do something.

Am I starting to sound like him?

Is this mask really worth all the pain it has caused? Is it worth all the blood that has been spilled? Maybe it would be for the best if Batman disappeared for a while, if I worked from the shadows where the press couldn't find me. I could get the Joker in prison (Arkham would be even better) and plenty of small criminals off the streets. It could be years.

Those years are worth it. Rachel deserves justice.

Fin

Bruce's POV was a little harder to write than I thought. Please review, tell me if anything is OOC. I write so you may enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Rant: I was looking back at my first chapter, and I thought "You know, that could describe Harley Quinn. If you squint really hard, you can see the Harley Quinn-ness." Just my opinion. Anyway…

Here is something for you to enjoy. Another Bruce drabble, but with good amounts of the Joker. Anyway, it doesn't have to be in Bruce's point of view if you don't want it to be.

Laughing Out of Pain

Sometimes, either deep into the silent nights or when there are no parties to host or women to hold, my mind has a habit of sinking into _those_ moments; The moments where something makes no sense at first sight.

My mind keeps going back to that moment when we truly faced off, me coming at him while HE just stood there in the middle of the street. The gun in his hands went off spasmodically – rata-tat-tat, tata-tat-tat – sending bullets into the cars of innocent civilians. He was egging me on, and we both knew it. I sped past all others, and for once I was the unstoppable force headed for the immovable object.

And yet, over the deafening roar of the engine, I could hear him shouting, "Come on, I want you to do it! Hit me! HIT ME!" He was angry, practically pulsating with hate.

And now that I think about it, something about what he said seems like him, like his true persona. He's always laughing and smiling, finding joy in carving people's faces. He wears his persona on his sleeves (or rather on his face) because he does not care what other people think of his appearance. Like he said, he wants them to acknowledge him for what he is – an agent of chaos – and not for how he looks.

But maybe that's all just a lie. Maybe that's his greatest magic trick of all; His ability to conceal the fact that something in him is _dying._ There's truth behind those lies, a truth that he dare not articulate, but a truth revealed in his infamous scar stories. And not speaking and only grinning is killing him inside, so much that he wants someone to finish the job for him. He's grinning to say _Please, end this miserable existence now._

Maybe he's not laughing out of pleasure or mockery; Maybe he's laughing out of pain.

If you listen closely, you really can tell that he's not insane. He scares us because what he says is true more often than not. Having the idea that all humans eat each other when the rules are dropped must be more of a burden than anyone can bear. I don't pity him – there's no way in hell that I could ever pity him after what he did to Rachel and Harvey – but I can't deny that his fate isn't a pleasant one.

He is, and probably always will be, alone.

If I had killed him, if I had let him fall, let the motorcycle smash him and break his body into a thousand pieces, would it have been all that bad?

"Alfred, get my Mercedes ready. I think some fresh air might do my head good. Oh, and call the Ballet while you're at it. We can all go to the Biltmore together."

…

"_Come on! Hit me! I want you to do it! Hit me! HIT ME!"_

Maybe I'm stupid, maybe I'm looking at this from a completely wrong angle. Maybe he wanted to prove that even Batman can kill.

But maybe I'm right, and there's nothing I can do for the Joker. All I can do is keep that clown's face out of my head for as long as possible.

Fin

Hmm…That turned out less like Bruce Wayne than I thought it might. Oh well! Comments are appreciated.


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